


Hope is the Thing with Feathers

by LeeMarieJack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5496743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeMarieJack/pseuds/LeeMarieJack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Campbell is a Hunter and Mystic. Dean Winchester is a collector and purveyor of Rare and Occult Items. They meet at an auction where Dean is selling and Sam is defusing Dean's haunted merchandise. They don't like each other. From conflict comes passion. M/M Slash A love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Coastal Hotal

A young man approached the Hotel desk. He was tall and fair skinned with soft chestnut hair falling in waves in his face like curtains, concealing his eyes. As he reached for the register and spun it around he flipped the hair back out of his face. Now I could clearly see his slanted, fox-tail shaped , hazel colored eyes. They were delicate, intelligent and very, very tired.

“Good evening, sir, Welcome to the Gladstone Hotel. My name is David.” I said mimicking a well-trained front desk clerk. “How can I help you tonight?”

“I’m going to need a room for all nights of the auction,” he answered, hiding a yawn behind a polite hand, “actually, through Monday night also if you have the space. “

“Very good, sir. We have a block of rooms set aside for the auction attendees. Are you pre-registered?” 

He looked surprised. Now that he had pushed the hair back I could see his face clearly. It was a sculptured, handsome face. A competent hair-dresser could do a lot with this guy.

“I didn’t realize it was necessary.“ he answered. “Is it going to be a problem?”

“No, no, of course not,” I said. “Just sign in and I’ll find you a room in just a minute. Do you have any preferences?”

He thought for a moment then answered as he signed the register. “I would like a room at the end of a hallway, next to the staircase, if possible. I think facing the ocean would be nice and I noticed you have rooms with small balconies. Can I get one of those? No higher than the second floor, please.” 

“Very well,” I spun the register and looked at his name. “Mr. Addison. Just give me a moment.”

“David,” he said “I am here at the request of your Manager, Mr. Gardner. Is he available?”

I buzzed Mr. Gardner in his office and told him there was a Mr. Addison waiting to talk to him. I was surprised when Mr. Gardner said “David, good, I’ve been waiting for him. Give him what he wants and the hotel is picking up his tab. Make sure to give him a dining room pass.”

I have to admit I was interested. Mr. Gardner wasn’t a scrooge but he did account for every penny. Free rooms, let alone free food, just didn’t happen very day. Now my curiosity was stung into full alert.

“Mr. Addison, “ I cleared my throat, “our Mr. Gardner will be out in a moment. Please take a seat.”

I watched the guy walk away and he looked as good going away as he did coming forward. We had this large group coming over the weekend to attend an Auction of Rare and Occult Items, whatever that meant, and for just a moment I wondered if he might just be a hooker supplied by the Hotel for special guests. 

Hey, it had happened before. Usually though the hookers were woman and were part of a weekend getaway for very special clients. We weren’t running a brothel here. The concierge was the one who set those packages up however, not our so respectable Mr. Gardner. But the Hotel business is pretty cut throat and a male hooker could be a new twist. I thought there might be maybe a thirty percent chance I could catch sight of Mr. Addison at work.

Mr. Gardner appeared at the door to the office and looked around. I helpfully pointed to the back of Mr. Addison’s head and Mr. Gardner swept over. He pulled the young man further into the lounge area. No chance of eavesdropping there for poor David but I kept a sharp eye on the pair. I set up a room as requested and if it happened to be located on the same stairway as my third floor room, well, there were only so many staircases in the hotel.

He sure was a pretty faced, wide shouldered young man. His multi colored eyes were entrancing. For a moment I indulged myself in imagining what he might look like stripped down and on his back in one of the Hotel’s king sized beds. I also wondered if I could afford him. That reminded me and I quickly checked that his room had a king sized bed. What can I say? A guy can dream, can’t he?

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Sam Addison unlocked his room and flipped on the lights. The Gladstone Hotel had been around for a long time. It was situated on the North Carolina coast and the hotel’s private balconies offered views of the Atlantic Ocean. The weather was a touch nippy here in early November and so getting this auction was a feather in the Manager’s cap.   
A summer hotel often had a hard time filling its rooms in the winter. The Auction of Rare and Occult Items was using the Hotel for its annual event for the first time and Mr. Gardner had hired Sam at the first hint of trouble to make sure that the auction would consider returning to the Gladstone as an annual event.

The room was decorated in what Sam considered a “Southern Belle” style with polished wood floors, rag rugs and a huge four poster bed. There was lace on the pillow cases and crocheted comforters at the foot. He wondered if it could possibly be a feather mattress although that would be impractical for a hotel. He tossed his suitcase on the bed and headed straight for the balcony. 

He stepped out on the little balcony and stood in the wind looking at a grey and heaving Atlantic. The ocean mirrored the storm in his eyes. Here where he didn’t need to wear a mask for anyone Sam let the pain and the loss wash over him. He was tired; tired all the way in, all the way to his bones. The fresh wind tossed his hair around and he filled his lungs with air off the waves. It felt like brand new air; air that hadn’t ever been breathed before. 

He stood and wished the wind could drive his memories away. Perhaps it could drive his sorrows and regrets away like birds tossed about in the stormy sky. They could spread wings and flap away. It was a good image and for a little while he stood there and visualized the black wings arching and fighting their way into the sky.

He was finally cold enough to go back into the room. Closing the baloney doors and latching them he then pulled the curtains closed. The room dimmed; perfect for a nap. He pulled his suitcase off the bed and toed off his shoes. Flopping on the bed fully clothed he wrapped one of the cheerful afghans around his shoulders. In the dim light the cheerful colors were muted; worn down and silenced. He curled up, arms empty and lost. He pulled a pillow into those empty arms, trying to fill an empty heart.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

He awoke to a dark room. It had been only dim before, now it was night. Stretching out a long arm he found the bedside lamp and flipped it on. Glancing at his wristwatch be decided that dinner would be nice. Slipping off the bed he hit the bathroom. Slapping water on his sleep drugged face and then changing his shirt be felt presentable enough for the dining room. He needed to find Gardner to get access to the Auction rooms. He needed access to those Rare and Occult Items to find the source of some of the hotel’s latest problems.

The Hotel was, of course, haunted; haunted as much as any other hotel. They were all fertile ground for haunts. In life hotels were way stations for fleeting moments, transitory passions, snippets of lives acted out in unfamiliar rooms. When death struck in the middle of the actor’s little plays often the soul was displaced, lost in a strange landscape where nothing familiar offered a resting place. 

The Gladstone offered a lady with a wide brimmed hat who wandering the midnight hall ways searching for something; perhaps her room? She didn’t belong here and was obviously lost however her infrequent approaches to the hotel’s guests did her no good and only caused a number of middle of the night departures. The staff of the Gladstone was used to that, offering either another room to the braver ones or an immediate refund and directions to another hotel to the weak of heart.

Mr. Gardner had no beef with the Lady in White. She added a dash of panache to the Hotel. Only the very best or, alternately, the very worst, could brag of their own ghost. Their ghost put them in a class with the Hotel Del Coronado or the Roosevelt of Hollywood. He didn’t want her disturbed or frightened away. Sam had been brought in to deal with a sudden influx of new and unwelcomed spooks. 

There was one that wandered the halls at night with a lit candle, a possible fire hazard although that would be a hard sell to the insurance company. Another was fascinated with the kitchen and, unfortunately, the kitchen pans. The cooks threatened to quit until he had hired a waiter who had the special duty of arriving at 3 AM to put the kitchen pots and pans back to rights again before the chief arrived. The rooms under the attic complained of someone walking about all night long. The complaints were many and frequent.  
Mr. Gardner had sent out a call for help to his fellow managers and Sam Addison was the result. 

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Sam was seated in a window nook in the dining room. Such special tables were usually reserved for quiet lovers’ meetings or celebrities seeking anonymity. Mr. Gardner had left orders that Sam was to be isolated from the other guests and this was the best the maître de could come up with.

Sam waited for his employer to show, fiddling with his napkin, drinking the house wine and watching his fellow guests. When Gardner finally arrived Sam was half way through his dinner. The manger had a copy of the auction catalogue and three keys on a ring.

Sam rose to shake hands with him and Mr. Gardner turned over the catalogue. “Sam, here is a guide to what the auction has brought into the Hotel. I can only assume that these things are what has caused our unusual guests to move in. Of course, you’re the expert so I assume you’ll make your own decisions about the place.”

“I will certainly take a look through the auction rooms first Mr. Gardner.” Sam replied as he ruffled through the catalogue.

“Please,” the manager said “call me Randy.”

“Thanks, Randy.” Sam replied. “I hope I’ll be able to help settle your hotel for you.”

“I thought there were going to be two of you. “

Sam looked up. “There were two of us. I lost my partner very recently. This job can have its dangers.”

Randy Gardner could get a message as well as anyone else. He asked no further questions just told Sam to ask David at the front desk to point out the auction rooms and left Sam to finish his dinner alone.

Sam sat in the dining room looking out at the ocean and waiting for night to claim the sky. He knew hunting alone was stupid and dangerous but he could not yet bring himself to replace Daniel. They had been partners and friends. The two things were not necessarily synonymous for Hunters. Sometimes your best partner was the guy who could tell you to pull your head out of your ass and look around.

It had only been a week since Daniel had died in those dark wooded hills; his chest ripped open by the werewolf’s claws. Sam remembered it all over again, crushed by guilt. If only he had looked to the left instead of to the right Daniel would still be here. The wolf had killed Daniel and Sam had killed the wolf, leaving him with two bodies to burn under a cold autumn sky.

He flipped though the catalogue for the third time but dog eared pages that interested him this time through: a deck of Aleister Crowley Tarot cards, a mirror from the dressing table of Catherine de' Medici, a Hand of Glory from a seventeenth century hanging. He would take a closer look tonight after the rest of the Hotel went to sleep.

The auction customers would start arriving in the morning and he hoped to make progress before he had innocents’ bodies sprawled in the hallways. Until recently most of his hunts had been victim free but he was worried that the Campbell curse had tracked him down. His happiness with Daniel and hiding his true name had not worked to keep them safe. He should have known better. You can’t break a curse you can only get out of its way.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

At the infamous ‘witching hour” Sam made his way into the auction showroom. He had scouted it out earlier that evening with David the desk clerk leading the way. That guy made him nervous. There had been too many almost touches. Innuendoes had littered the carpet and he had repeatedly found David peeking at him from the corner of his eye. Sam had finally said he needed to do the supposed ‘cataloguing’ of the artifacts alone and the desk clerk had left him reluctantly. It was then that Sam finally set down to do some real work.

He had sketched the room and notated the really ‘live’ objects. There were a number that gave off strong EMF. He had to admit that whoever put this sale together knew what he was doing. The Tarot deck appeared to be real. It gave off a strong stench of Crowley’s brand of sexual sadism. The Medici mirror seemed to have traces of Huguenot victims still lingering. Grotesquely enough in a far corner he had located the blade from a French Guillotine, still marked along the edge with un-cleanable stains. Sam could feel these traces unaided. It was one of his major strengths as a Hunter and also a huge secret.

The Campbell line had been cursed with ’the sight’ as far back as their history could be traced. It was just another piece of his life he had tried to escape, with disastrous results. He had known that the Hunt was going to go wrong but he hadn’t said anything and he hadn’t warned Daniel. He didn’t want to talk about his death visions gift. Some gift it turned out to be. 

While making his list and taking notes he thought seriously about telling Bobby Singer that he was going back to the Sam Campbell name. He was ready to be a Campbell again. It had not helped to keep Daniel safe and was now just a blanket of unnecessary lies to remember.

While admiring a Borgia poison ring he noticed his first ghost. A lady in a long ruffled nightgown appeared in the corner by the Guillotine blade and, carrying a lit oil lamp, wandered toward the exit doors. Sam followed behind fairly certain he was watching a victim of the Revolution looking for a way out. There was no escape for her now. There had been no escape for her two hundred and twenty years ago during the Reign of Terror either when over 40,000 executions had taken place in France. Her name was just one of thousands lost in history.

Sad and lost as she appeared to be Sam could not allow her to wander these halls. While she might be simply looking for escape there was a possibility that she could give an elderly guest a heart attack with her pale face and her little floating flame.

He made his way back to the blade and performed a purification ritual with holy water and Prayers for the Dead. As softly as she arrived he heard her sigh and saw her light go out. Even if she had never found her escape he hoped she at last had gone to her rest. It was the best he could offer.

 

"Hope" is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson

"Hope" is the thing with feathers --  
That perches in the soul --  
And sings the tune without the words --  
And never stops -- at all --

And sweetest -- in the Gale -- is heard --  
And sore must be the storm --  
That could abash the little Bird  
That kept so many warm --

I've heard it in the chillest land --  
And on the strangest Sea --  
Yet, never, in Extremity,  
It asked a crumb -- of Me.


	2. He’s Selling

The sun poured through the huge arched windows of his apartment and hit Dean Winchester right in the face. God but he loved this place. He yawned, stretched and bounced out of bed, moving right in front of the curtain less window, naked as the day he was born. He was twenty stories up on the west side of Central Park and if there were Peeping Toms out there in the forest of New York apartment buildings he was more than willing to give them a show.

He ran his fingers down his chest and brushed the backs of his digits against his cock, getting a little tingle going. Then he started his morning stretches. Left side stretch, right side stretch, drop his hands to the floor keeping his knees straight and slapping the wood. Repeat. He could feel the blood beginning to move through his sleep stiffened muscles and his day was on its way.

The second time he slapped the floor a voice came from behind him; from his bed.

“Well, isn’t that a pretty show?” a gruff man’s voice called out. Dean turned quickly. He had forgotten all about the man he had picked up at the club last night. He flicked his eyes at the large, well-built hunk of man he had brought home with him.

The man, Dean’s usual type, big and rough looking with a light dusting of day old beard, flipped back the bed covers and patted the mattress.

“Why don’t you get back over here, sweet cheeks?” the guy said. “I’ll give you another ride and get both our days started off right.” 

Dean wasn’t adverse to a little morning delight but he hesitated. He had to catch a flight down to North Carolina in the early afternoon and he still had to stop at the store and pick up a few select items for the auction. He didn’t think he had time to climb on the guy again for a quickie. He would have to decide. Was it going to be sex or breakfast?  
He did the math and decided on breakfast. Who knew what kind of food he would be getting on the plane? He could pick up men all day. They were thick on the ground. A well-cooked omelet at Maisie’s Diner around the corner was something to treasure. 

“Excuse me, buddy,” he started to say.

“Pete” the man growled. “My name is Pete. You thought it was pretty funny last night when you had a couple of drinks under your belt. Pete with a Peter, that’s what you were repeating all the way over here in the cab. You’re such a slut. I was too busy last night getting you naked to bother with the niceties and find out the name of the guy about to ride my dick.”

“Well, Pete,” Dean got out. “My name is Dean and I’ve got a plane to catch pretty soon so I’ll just have to take a rain check and call you when I get back in town.” 

Pete started to climb out of the bed. “No you don’t, pretty boy. You get that ass back over here.” 

As Pete came around the end of the bed Dean dived for his pants. Snatching them up off the floor he made it into the bathroom and slammed the door. Pete pounded on the door. “Come on out kid. Let’s have a little fun.”

Dean sat on the closed toilet seat, pulled his phone out of his pants pocket and dialed the store’s security office.

“Hi. Melody?” he said as dispatch answered. “It’s Dean. Yes, someone is pounding on a door. I need rescuing again. Can you get the guys up here right away?” As he started to flip the phone shut he could hear Melody giggling.

“Listen Pete,” Dean called out. I just called Security. You might just want to drop your number on the bedside table and get dressed before they show up.”

Pete put his head against the door and groaned. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me, slut. I’m out here with a dick that could cut diamond and you’re hiding in the bathroom. I’m getting dressed and leaving now but you better watch your ass. I’ll be back to collect just when you’re not expecting it.”

There was a little thumping and muttering from the other room but Dean was fairly confident the guy wouldn’t try to break down the door and he’d be gene before security showed up. 

Deciding he would get started on the day Dean headed for the shower. Under the water he inspected his body, looking for any evidence of last night’s activities. Yes, there were finger shaped bruises on the inside of his thighs and now that the hot water was sliding down his back he definitely had beard-burn. He hoped he’d get the memories back as the day went on since it felt like he and Pete had a real good time.

He was almost done with the shower, rinsing the shampoo out of his hear, when there was a firm knocking on the bathroom door.

“Dean, you in there? It’s Andy.” A man’s voice called Andy was one of the store’s regular security guards, a middle aged man with a permanent partner. Dean trusted Andy. He’d tried to entice the guy a couple of times and Andy had ignored him.

“Yeah. Andy. I’m OK. I’ll be out in a minute. I’m almost done;” Dean answered.

“We’re going to wait for you,” Andy answered back. “I got someone new to introduce. His name is Alfonso. Melody told us to stay with you until you get on that plane. Remember that guy Jerry.”

Dean hummed. Somebody new. Interesting. He’d have to take a look and he sure as hell remembered Jerry. Jerry had waited until the guards left Dean’s apartment and then had come back. Andy had finally become concerned when Dean wasn’t at the store by noon and had returned to the apartment to check. By that time Jerry had definitely got what he wanted and Dean later had a number of prominent bruises to remind him of the man. 

“I’ll be out in a minute, Andy.” Dean called aback. “ I’d like to go over to Maisie’s for breakfast. My treat.”

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

A couple of hours later Dean was finally at Winchesters Rarities, the family business. The Winchesters were well known for having the rarest, the most whimsical and the very, very most expensive of items. The stock was extremely specialized and exclusive and benefactors had been known to pay pretty stiff prices for museum quality pieces. Often the Winchester pieces ended up in museums, providing their customers with hefty and supportable tax deductions for charitable donations.

The business had been with the family for generations. Dean had been raised with actual silver spoons to eat with and he had been molded into one of the business’s very special and beautiful items. He had his specialty, like all the Winchester did. His father hand been known for his weapon collection. His grandfather roamed the world searching out the best of the jeweler’s art. Dean went for rare and mystical objects.

Dean’s show room was kept locked at all times. Customers visited by appointment only. The Winchester auction of Rare and Occult Items which Dean had organized at the Gladstone Hotel was a type of closet cleaning for the young man. He had his eye on some very special items and needed to build up his resources so that he could chase off after his heart’s desire in several remote parts of the world.

Some of the auction objects weren’t even haunted, just beautiful. Some of them were very haunted and had been causing problems in the store. Dean was well aware however that those items that were both beautiful and haunted were going to bring the highest prices. The auction catalogue was a closely guarded item that had been sent out to only those special customers that were capable of showing up not only loaded but knowledgeable. 

Dean had annotated the guest list here and there with names of men who perhaps wouldn’t be there to buy items but were invited more for Dean to have a nice selection of bed partners. After all, he was going to be in the wilds of North Carolina for at least three nights. Dean wasn’t known for denying himself.

Dean unlocked his private show room and went in with a secure traveling case for those few items he was carrying to the auction himself. The Demon Knife of the Kurds was possibly three thousand years old and definitely traveling first class. If no one met Dean’s price he would simply bring it home again. The Elf ring was of questionable provenance but was undeniably beautiful and no expert could say how it had been made or why the cloudy glow within the clear gem moved. The gaudy necklace of Madame Pompadour was in the case almost purely for insurance reasons. Was there a gem the woman didn’t crave?

The insurance premium on Dean’s special traveling case was jaw dropping. The company had wanted armed guards but Dean had convinced his agent that they would just make him a target. The Winchesters had moved these types of objects around the world for hundreds of years and were without a doubt the ultimate expects. Den would travel with the case manacled to his wrist and two security guards, including Andy, would go along with him to the auction.

The Winchesters had standing arrangements with airports and recently with Homeland Security. The fact that Dean was traveling by plane with a three thousand year old religious artifact in the shape of a knife was not going to be a problem. He was going to fly into Raleigh-Durham airport then he would transfer to a regional flight to get close enough to the coastal hotel to drive. It was going to be a long day but he would definitely be there for the first night of the auction.

The Gladstone wouldn’t remember Dean but he remembered the Gladstone. It was the venue of one of his favorite memories of his father. Usually Dean had been left at home when his father went on one of his trips but John had gone to North Carolina on the trail of a cache of Civil War weapons and decided to take Dean along. He had only been eleven at the time and it was the longest period of time he had ever spent with his father, just the two of them.

He didn’t have any memories of his mother who had died before his first birthday. As he aged he had caught certain ill-natured whispers about his mother’s death but was sure that his father had nothing to do with the fall that killed her. His father had never re-married and always spoke of his Rebecca with sadness in his voice. Yes, falling off a mountain in Tibet was unusual but the Winchester men had a long history of visiting unusual places. 

Dean settled comfortably into his first class seat and opened up the auction catalogue. He had been sending pieces down to the hotel for weeks now and with the exception of the items in his case everything looked ready to go. After landing at the commercial airport Dean and his entourage transferred to a private plane to get them closer to the coast.

By the time he was climbing into the SUV for the trip to the Hotel he was getting just a bit cranky.

Finally they pulled up in front of the Gladstone and Dean was grateful to be able to stretch his legs. He was met at the front doors by the Manger, Mr. Gardner and swept past the front desk, leaving Andy to deal with the paperwork and the rather creepy looking Desk Clerk. Mr. Gardner unlocked the doors to the auction rooms. Andy had brought Paul Wisner with them to act as an armed guard and Dean hoped that Hotel security could be counted to be on its toes.

He was somewhat shocked however to find a man already inside the main auction floor. A tall, long, dark haired man was standing next to the case holding one of Dean’s haunted treasures, a Civil War uniform still stained by its owner’s blood.


	3. Tall, Dark and Cranky

Sam had tracked down his next ghost. He had investigated the attic very early in the morning looking for clues to the ‘pacing ghost’ who was annoying the guests on the upper floors with the all night movement over their heads. Sitting quietly in a chill hotel attic at 3 AM was a long and lonely vigil. Previously Sam had Daniel to share these night watches but now he spent them alone. 

In the dim light of the false dawn he had felt the presence of an anxious and disturbed shade. The faded outline of a man with a cap had traced a wispy outline against the dusty window and he seemed to be carrying a long gun by his side. The fragmented apparition had given Sam the impression of a soldier, perhaps a sentry, on watch for an expected foe. It had walked a pattern before the window stopping to look East on each pass. His footsteps echoed on the wood floor.

When the sun finally broke and light flooded the window the apparition tore into tatters and drifted away. Sam stood up, stretched and left intending to take a short nap then to investigate the auction rooms to see if anything could explain the night sentry. Cold, alone and slightly depressed he made his way down a couple of flights to his room.  
In the weak light of the afternoon sun Sam woke, still fully dressed and wrapped in one of the Hotel’s Afghans. As he rolled up and shed the cozy blanket he realized he had missed both breakfast and lunch, focused on his ghost hunt. In and out of the bathroom with minimal primping he headed down stairs for the dining room. Finally ready for work he entered the main auction room and moved from display to display, filling in the blanks on his site map.

Sam stood looking at a Union Civil War uniform jacket. It was heavily stained and he thought he knew what the stains were. The jacket was folded neatly to blatantly display the blood and it was protected inside a glass display case. Sam glanced at the key ring Gardner had given him. There were no case lock keys. Everything appeared to be a door key. Every item on display was locked in its own individual case and Sam could easily see the flat, glittering strip of silver alarm ribbon further protecting each item.

The only way he was going to get that jacket out of the case was to either break it and cause a major incident or convince the owner to give Sam the garment. As he stood and looked at the jacket he heard the entrance doors click as they were unlocked. The doors swing open and three men entered. One was the hotel Manager, one was a beefy, rough looking man whose stance screamed tough guy and the third man put Sam’s heart in his throat.

Sam coughed, cleared the obstruction and smiled at his reaction. He thought to himself that if he was a dog he’d be pounding a leg against the floor. The third man was perfect.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Dean was surprised to find someone in the room and flicked a raised eyebrow at the Hotel Manager. He could tell the guy by the case was tall and broad shouldered with longer than usual dark hair but only the display case lights were on and the man’s face was in shadow.

“Mr. Winchester,” the Manager stuttered. “Let me introduce you to an expert the Hotel has brought in for the auction.” The stranger stepped forward but his face was still in shadow. Dean realized that part of the shadow was due to the height of the man.

Mr. Gardner continued. “This is Sam Addison.” Andy, who was standing in back reached over and flicked on the ceiling lights and Dean got a good look at Mr. Addison. The guy’s face had been carved by an artist, his hair softly outlined the face and the man’s eyes were slightly slanted feathered pools of sadness. Dean had a type and Addison was it; tall, strong, well-muscled and pretty. As far as Dean could tell the guy was perfect.

Addison reached forward to shake Dean’s hand. He glanced at Dean’s left wrist, circled by the manacle and still chained to the traveling case. Dean realized he was staring and snapped to. “Well, good, the more the safer, right?’ He stepped forward past Mr. Perfect and laid the case down on a nearby counter. “I have a few items here that the insurance company insisted be brought down under armed guard. It’s time to get them in their cases.”

Dean pulled out his keys and unlocked the metal brief case.

“Oh, Mr. Addison isn’t a security expert,” Mr. Gardner said. “I’m sorry if I mislead you. He’s more of a historical expert.”

Dean turned to Sam. “Really?” he murmured. “How so? I assure you that all of the lots have been authenticated by experts and are well supplied with provenience documentation.”

Sam smiled. “I’m more of an expert in ghosts, hauntings, curses and so on. Some of your treasures may have been causing problems here in the hotel.”

Dean sat down abruptly on one of the swivel stools in front of the courter. “A Ghostbuster? You’re kidding.” He looked at the Hotel Manager. “You brought in a ghost hunter to my auction? Are you out of your mind?”

“Hey,” Sam barked out. “What’s your problem? Are you looking for people to get hurt?”

Dean stood up and poked a rigid finger into Sam’s chest. “Look here buddy, you just stay away from my auction items. Whatever your hustle is, people are coming here to buy stuff they believe is haunted or magical or cursed. They’re going to pay for the story. The story it what gives most of these pieces their value. I don’t need you around taking the shine off the apple.”

Sam looked down at the guy bruising his sternum. “Well, too freaking late for the Guillotine ghost. I took care of her frilly ass yesterday.”

Dean froze. He looked around. “Andy, Gardner, get out. Get out of the room. Andy, guard the doors. Mr. Addison and I need to have a private conversation. I’ll deal with you later Gardner.” Dean flapped his hands, chasing the two men out of the room. He followed them to the doors and once they were outside he motioned to Andy for the key and locked himself and Sam in.

He was so angry his hands were shaking. As he pulled the key out of the lock he dropped it on the floor and bent over to pick it up. Realizing how it looked he craned his head around and caught Addison staring at his ass. 

He straightened up and went back to the annoyingly good looking saboteur. 

“Look here, Addison,” he snarled, again poking his finger into Sam’s chest. “Keep your hands off my stuff and keep your mouth shut. I have to swear to my customers that such and such a piece is haunted and you’re going to stand there and tell me you got rid of one of my ghosts? Do you have any idea how much money you could cost me? As it is now I’ll have to withdraw the Guillotine blade. It’s only real value was that God damned ghost. No one wants it as a wall decoration.”

Tired of the pounding and beginning to fell somewhat sore from the repeated poking, Sam grabbed Dean’s intruding finger. “Stop it with the pointy finger, Princess.” He growled.

Dean, still angry and now insulted that Sam was able to handle his arm so easily responded by pushing Sam away with both hands on the man’s chest. “I’m not your princess, buddy.” 

Sam was rocked back on his heels by the sudden attack. He wrapped his large hands around Dean’s biceps and pushed the shorter man backward until they crashed into the wall beside the doors.

Andy heard the noise outside the doors and yelled. “Dean, are you alright?” 

”I’m fine Andy,” the blonde man yelled back. “I’ll yell if I need you.”

“I’ll sue your ass for assault, Addison.” Dean hissed. “Let the hell go of me.”

“Calm down green eyes.” Sam smiled. “If I’m going to get sued I might as well make it for something good.”

He wrapped one long arm around Dean’s waist and pulled the blonde in tight and close. With his other hand Sam grabbed Dean’s chin firmly and kissed him.

Initially Dean fought but Sam was so much larger than Dean that it was hopeless. The kiss went on and on. Sam was pretty much raping his mouth and having a hell of a good time doing it. It only took the realization that there was nothing he could do to resist that turned Dean, the natural bottom, on so hard he achieved an immediate erection. Sam ground their hips together, glorying in his control.

Sam pulled his head back far enough to look into Dean’s eyes and say, “So you like that, do you Princess?” He rubbed against the smaller man’s obvious boner, rolling it from side to side in Dean’s pants. Dean just about melted into the wall. He was a true submissive in bed and this display of aggression thrilled him to his core.

“Touch me,” Dean demanded and pretty much tried to climb up the taller man’s body. 

Sam pulled back altogether when he felt Dean trying to wrap a leg around him. “You bastard,” Dean muttered, panting, He pushed his head into the wall behind him. 

Sam pulled Dean’s wrists together and wrapped them up with one big hand. He lifted the trapped hands over the blonde’s head and pinned them to that wall. With his free hand Sam felt Dean up; paying a lot of attention to Dean’s rock hard dick. The larger man swept in again and claimed Dean’s lips for another bruising, almost violent, kiss.

Just when Dean thought he was going to come in his pants, Sam stopped, spun the smaller man around and smacked his ass hard. Leaning in Sam demonstrated a tongue that felt prehensile to Dean when it circled the shell of his ear, sending shivers down his spine. Sam whispered; “Ten o’clock tonight, room 218.”

Sam pulled the door key out of Dean’s pants pocket, unlocked the doors and left, leaving Dean a quivering mess.


End file.
